


Kuro-drabbles

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Board Games, Christmas Eve, Cooking, Dadbastian, Dancing, Daydreaming, Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, Drowning, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Female Sebastian Michaelis, Flowers, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hats, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Light Bondage, Love Letters, Magic Tricks, Mild Blood, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Pregnancy, Prison, Rachel Angelina Phantomhive, Sarah Sutcliff, Sister-Sister Relationship, Stars, Suicide, Swearing, Tears, Trans Female Character, Vampires, Waltzing, Wedding Rings, Wings, deadnaming, female!Agni, hand holding, mention of blood in the first drabble, soft things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: Various and sundry drabbles for different Kuroshitsuji characters and their relationships. Generally based on Tumblr prompts. Will update as needed.
Relationships: Agni/Sebastian Michaelis, Alexis Leon Midford/Francis Midford, Angelina Dalles | Madame Red/Grell Sutcliff, Baldroy/Grell Sutcliff, Elizabeth Midford & Francis Midford, Elizabeth Midford/Sieglinde Sullivan, Finnian & Sebastian Michaelis, Francis Midford and Original Female Character(s), Francis Midford/Grell Sutcliff, Grell Sutcliff & Original Female Character(s), Hannah Annafellows & Luka Macken, Mey-Rin/Grell Sutcliff, Mey-Rin/Sebastian Michaelis, Othello/Grell Sutcliff, Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis & Original Female Character(s), Sebastian Michaelis/Grell Sutcliff, Wolfram Gelzer/Sebastian Michaelis
Comments: 132
Kudos: 111





	1. Sebagni: Washing away of iniquity

“Sebastian? Is that blood?”

Agni’s mellow baritone was sharp with anxiety. Sebastian sighed. He’d told Agni that he needed to go out on business for the young master and probably wouldn’t be back til after midnight. ‘Please don’t tax yourself, dear. There’s no need to wait up for me when we have a full day’s work ahead,’ he’d tried to persuade the khansama. But they’d been together long enough for Agni to guess what that dark, violent ‘business’ might be. _I should have known he’d be too worried to sleep_ , Sebastian thought with one of those nonsensical pangs of…no, it couldn’t be guilt.

They were in the kitchen, Agni’s hands cradling a cup of tea, Sebastian’s (ungloved for once) stained in crimson gore. “It’s not mine,” he reassured Agni, struck with another pang as he saw those beautiful gray eyes widen in dismay. “This business was a bit…messy,” he concluded lamely. “You should go and get some rest, sunshine. I’ll wash up—”

“Let me.”

Agni set his teacup on the table and gripped Sebastian by the upper arm, escorting him to the sink.

“This really isn’t necessary,” the demon protested. Unlike him, Agni was not a whited sepulcher but truly good, pure within and without. He shouldn’t have to deal with Sebastian’s ugly side.

Agni kissed him on the corner of the mouth and smiled at him, eliciting a blush from the startled butler. “I’m your husband, Sebastian. A little blood won’t scare me away.”

And tenderly, he washed the demon’s hands clean.


	2. Bardcliff: Fret not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this scenario, Grelle has already come out as a trans woman to Bard, hence the use of the correct female pronouns.

“WAAAAAHHH!!!”

Bardroy nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard a loud crash followed by Grelle’s earsplitting wail. Oh, shit. What had Madame Red’s butler gone and done now?

Dashing around the corner, he quickly surveyed the situation. The shattered pieces of a priceless vase were strewn about every which way. A short distance away, the butler lay sprawled on the floor, legs akimbo and strands of hair falling about her distraught face. It only took Bard a matter of seconds to piece together what had happened.

Meeting his eyes, she blushed, stammering desperately, “B-bard…I’m so sorry, so terribly, _terribly_ sorry!!! I’ll be sacked for this, M-madame and Sebastian will be _f-f-furious_ with me!”

Fuck! He had to act fast. If Grelle continued in this vein, she’d work herself into hysterics, or worse, talk of doing herself in. Bard gingerly stepped around the shards of porcelain, took Grelle by the hand, and helped her to her feet.

“No one’s going to hurt yer, doll,” he comforted her, hesitantly stroking her cheek with his fingertips as tearful green eyes blinked up at him.

“B-but I made such a mess—”

“We’ll clean ‘t up t’gether. B’sides, the young master usually doesn’t stop by this part o’ th’ estate. ‘e probably won’t notice, an’ if Mr. Sebastian does…well…I’ll jus’ say it was me that done it!”

“Oh Bard, darling, you shouldn’t!” she gasped.

“Don’t trouble yerself, Grelle. I can handle getting’ shouted at for a few minutes by that bastard. I’ll do it for my gal!”

She beamed at that, and Bard grinned as he saw her anxiety fade, at least for now.

“You’re a gem, Bardroy,” she whispered breathily, kissing his cheek. She giggled like a schoolgirl when she saw him blush.


	3. Sebagrelle: That demon, pleading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is based on several ideas my Tumblr mutual bapydemonprincess has been discussing with me and is used here with permission. All credit for the original idea goes to them!  
> The basic premise is that demons and similar creatures live openly among humans in the modern era. Sebastian is genderfluid, changing their human appearance at whim, working as a schoolteacher when in he/him mode and performing as a ballerina when in "Fembastian" mode. While moping at a bar one night, Fembastian is scouted by freelance fashion model photographer Grelle Sutcliff, who's human in this AU and draws inspiration from both mortals and demons. At the start of this fic, the two have moved in together.

Sebastian was curled up in Grelle’s arms, and the woman’s supple fingers ran through her cascade of black hair. She ought to have been content, but her heart was heavy. After weeks of intensive work, the fiery photographer had completed the set for which the demoness had been modeling. In a few minutes, they would rise, have breakfast (or at least Grelle would—Sebastian’s diet consisted of human vice and corruption rather than the pancakes Miss Sutcliff adored), and then Grelle would leave for her next assignment. ‘We freelance photographers are itinerant creatures,’ Grelle had laughed once, with an airy wave of her hand. Bitter pain twisted in Sebastian’s chest, like the turning of a knife. They’d only known each other for a brief time, but Grelle enthralled her. A wild, untamable spirit, an artist’s eye for beauty, and a goddess’s charisma…it had been centuries since Sebastian had met a woman like Grelle, and she probably never would again. She kept telling herself that she was just another fling to Grelle, that Miss Sutcliff would promptly forget her as soon as she found her next muse.

“It’s our last day. Time really does fly,” Grelle sighed. Sebastian must be imagining the wistfulness she could have sworn flickered in Grelle’s eyes. Her breathing grew uneven, and she wrapped her arms around Grelle's neck, shaking with that incandescent emotion the photographer had awoken in her.

Grelle’s brow furrowed. “Darling, what’s the matter?”

“I…I don’t…Grelle… _Please stay with me_ ,” Sebastian begged, her eyes flaming scarlet with need. She froze. _I actually said that out loud_ , the proud demon realized in horror. In the next instant, though, she tossed her dignity aside. Her yearning superseded all other concerns. “I’d been alone for so long, a wandering void, and then there was _you_! With the French, and that ridiculous dance of ours on the rooftop, and your passion and energy and perfection and imperfection and _red_ ….” The words tumbled out in a clumsy, garbled mess.

“Little Sebas,” Grelle replied, her tone dumbfounded. “You really want me?”

“How couldn’t I? Do you take me for a bloody idiot, Miss Sutcliff?”

Grelle abruptly sat up, grabbing Sebastian by the shoulders and staring into her eyes.

“I was a damn fool. You’re not just a muse, you’re _the_ muse, the one I’ve been searching for all along. _Mon p’tit minou, ma princesse…_ there’s no way in hell I’d leave.”

She kissed Sebastian, and demon silently blessed the crimson lips that vowed, “I’ll stay.”


	4. Sebwolf: Delicate

Sebastian himself didn’t understand why he’d agreed to give Wolf weekly tutoring in English. The man was pugnacious and stubborn, and he and Sebastian had gotten off to a rocky start, to put it mildly. Perhaps it was just a concession to young Miss Sullivan. Wolf’s handsome features and superb physique had nothing to do with it, he was sure. If Sebastian found excuses to casually brush his hand against Wolf’s and gaze coyly at him from beneath his lashes while they practiced English diction, what was so remarkable about that? He’d initially expected an angry rebuke, but Wolf just became bashful. He never pulled away, though, which meant Sebastian had no reason to end this idle flirtation.

One evening, while Wolf struggled through a passage from a textbook procured by Sebastian, the demon’s advances grew bolder. The sight of the gruff, simplehearted man earnestly toiling to improve himself was oddly affecting. A devil’s spirit burns with a cold flame, yet it was an inexplicable warmth that compelled Sebastian to take Wolf by the hand, interlacing their fingers. Wolf’s recitations fell silent. A sweet, tentative smile appeared on the man’s face, and he cautiously tightened his grip, as if Sebastian was delicate as glass. Sebastian had to hide his amusement—there was hardly any danger of a mortal harming the likes of him! Still, he became keenly aware of how dainty his hand was compared to Wolf’s larger, calloused one. Damn, why was his heart racing?

“Sebastian, I…uh…ah…” Wolf’s face scrunched as he rifled through his brains for the desired words. Finally admitting defeat, he resorted to his native German.

_“Can I kiss you?”_

Speak to a man in his mother tongue, and you speak to his heart. Instead of chastising Wolf for not using English, Sebastian heard himself reply in German, “ _You most certainly may_.”

He’d expected the other man to be rough, but the kiss Wolf gave him was shy and light as a feather. Paradoxically, that was precisely what made Sebastian feel almost delicate beneath his touch. Mostly unseemly for a demon.

“ _More_ ,” Sebastian whispered huskily, still in German, and he melted when Wolf’s lips met his.


	5. Grellthello: Sweet is the rose, but sharp is the briar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse at Grelle's first time with Othello and Othello's first time with anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cautionary warning for NSFW content.

“Would you just hold _still_ , darling?” Grelle insisted, tightening the shiny red hair-ribbon tying Othello’s wrists together. He moaned at the feel of the bonds constraining him, a firm reminder of who was in control.

“Th-that’s kinda hard to do when you’re on top of me, Grelle,” he panted, gazing in awe at the beautiful woman grinning down at him. The lithe, powerful body, the miles of indescribably soft hair, the passionate heart—all these were _his_.

“I suppose you _are_ at my mercy, aren’t you?” she cooed, ghosting her fingers across his chest and teasing at his nipples before pinching down hard.

“HNNNN.” His back arched, and tears sprang to his eyes. Grelle Sutcliff was a sweet agony.

“My, my, ‘thello, aren’t you sensitive?” she tittered in delight. “But don’t worry, I’ll take gooood care of you. A lady ought to make sure that her man’s first time is _special_.”

She kissed his neck with the rapacious glee of a tigress, teeth nicking at the skin. A warm trickle of what must be blood ran down Othello’s throat.

“Oh shit. Sorry, darling,” Grelle murmured apologetically. “My teeth can be a bit much for some people…”

“I…don’t mind,” he assured her, trembling with anticipation. Who knew if a geek could survive a night with such a fearsome woman? There was only one way to find out.


	6. Sebagrelle: Precious cargo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in my You Reap What You Sow Sebagrelle AU. At the time of the drabble, Grelle is about seven months pregnant with the Sutcliff-Michaelis twins, Rose and Xander.

Grelle had been craving that packet of crisps. She’d resisted temptation as long as she could, but she was _dying_ for a taste. Standing on her tiptoes and gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, she strained to reach the cabinet where they were stored, a task that was more difficult than it would have been a few months prior. As much as it pained her, wearing the high heels she adored was fraught with risk now that she was heavily _enceinte_ , which meant she’d lost a good few inches from her “normal” height. Grelle was so engrossed in her mission that she didn’t hear Sebastian approach. Only the tentacles, black as tar, encircling her midriff alerted her to his presence.

“Let me help, Mrs. Sutcliff-Michaelis.”

With infinite care, Sebastian lifted her until she was level with the cabinet, enabling Grelle to open it and seize the coveted crisps. He lowered her back down with even greater gentleness and then proceeded to cradle her against his chest, purring loudly.

“You spoil me, darling,” she laughed. Secretly, Grelle loved being cosseted by the demon. He’d been adorably overprotective these past few months, waiting on her hand and foot, as was a lady’s due.

“If I didn’t dote on my wife, what sort of husband would I be?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. One of his hands drifted down to rest on her swollen belly. “And you’re carrying precious cargo. We can’t be too careful where the kittens are concerned.”

“Of course, little Sebas.” Grelle smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, thinking of the decades she’d spent longing for a child. _Yes, precious._


	7. Sebastian and Ciel: Fealty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble in set in an AU that I've recently started developing. In this verse, the Phantomhives are dragon riders, humans capable of bonding with a dragon ("contracting"). Some time after contracting (ranging from a few days to several months), the human's own inner magic will be brought to life as a result of making a contract with their dragon (a process called "awakening"). O!Ciel has been orphaned after his twin and parents died under mysterious circumstances. During his quest to avenge their murders, he encounters and contracts with an ancient dark dragon, who he names Sebastian. In the scene below, set about 3 weeks after the establishment of their contract, Ciel's magic is finally awoken when he uses it to fend off a ravening goblin.

Ciel froze in shock at the spectacle before him. For a ten-foot radius in all directions, the ground was cracked and scorched, and smoke slowly rose from the charred corpse of the goblin that had attacked him. Sebastian’s dragonfire hadn’t caused this devastation.

“It was…me,” he choked out, revulsion rising within him as he stared at his trembling hands. “I used a _curse_ to stop that goblin.”

This wasn’t, _couldn’t_ be happening. For generations, every rider in the Phantomhive family had wielded bright magic; it was in their blood. But there was no denying that the power now humming in Ciel’s veins was of the darkest kind.

He tried to quell the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. _I should have been the one that died, not my brother_. Ciel was sure that his twin would have possessed the pure, sacred magic of their forebears, not the wicked, tainted variety that had sprung to life in him. Everyone knew that dark magic wasn’t good for anything but destruction. He was a disgrace, a failure…imaging that disgust and disappointment on his deceased parents’ faces caused the tears to course down his cheeks at last.

“Ciel, look at me,” Sebastian rumbled. The black dragon lowered his horned head until his livid red eyes were level with the boy’s.

“There is no shame in your magic,” he growled fiercely, looking more distraught than Ciel had ever seen him. “I am a _dark_ dragon, am I not? Yet you still chose to become my rider.”

“B-but you were born that way—it’s in your nature!” Ciel sobbed, balling up his fists. “I’m a bloody Phantomhive. We’re not _supposed_ to be like this!”

“You are who you are, child. This may not be the power you wished for, but it is the power that the gods have granted to you. Didn’t I tell you earlier that magic is like a flame? Whether it brings warmth and comfort or ruin and misery depends largely on the person who wields it.”

Ciel gazed at Sebastian in silence, pondering his words.

“Regardless of the path you walk, I am your dragon, and you are my rider. That’s all that matters to me.”

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Ciel whispered before running forward and throwing his slender arms around the dragon’s snout as far as they could reach. He recalled Sebastian’s vows of fealty when they had contracted and hugged the dragon tighter. No matter what, even if the rest of the world reviled him, Sebastian would always be on his side.


	8. Sebastian and Ciel: Yes, my lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in the same AU as my Girl from the Other Side crossover fic, The Little Lost Star, which features a five-year-old O!Ciel (called "Astre") and cursed one!Sebastian (like Teacher in Nagabe's manga). The drabble is set shortly before the events of Chapter 1 in that fic.

Astre cheerfully frolicked in the clearing, his white cotton shirt and trousers making him appear like a bright little star against the emerald green grass of the forest. He’d woven a crown from what he’d called “purple daisies,” which Sebastian knew to be asters—a fitting choice for the boy who shared their name. The ancient trees surrounding the glade seemed to lean in curiously with their gnarled, knotted branches, as if they welcomed the lilt of youthful laughter after the centuries of silence that had come and gone. Meanwhile, the cursed one kept watch over his tiny charge, a dark sentinel. There was no sign that others of his kind were nearby, but Sebastian wasn’t about to take chances. The Outside harbored many dangers for a human child. Although Astre’s innocent wonder at the world was a joy to behold, he had little true grasp of the peril lurking beneath its beauty.

Clambering onto a tree stump in the center of the clearing, Astre lifted his chin, placed his hands on his hips, and proudly proclaimed, “Look at me, Sebastian! I’m king of the forest!”

The cursed one’s wings unfurled of their own volition, a common response to the happiness this sweet boy so often brought him. “My goodness, I’m being rude! I suppose I ought to kneel in the presence of royalty,” he laughed.

Getting down on bended knee, he bowed before his ward. “I am yours to command, your majesty,” he intoned solemnly.

“Well, it’s prob’bly better if I’m an _earl_ ,” Astre declared after a moment’s reflection. “I mean, Papa’s earl now, and Ciel will be earl when we’re grown-ups coz he’s older, but I thiiiink it’s okay if it’s just pretend.”

“In that, would you be my…lord?” Sebastian asked, refusing to dwell on the unknown (and likely tragic) fate that might have befallen Astre’s father and twin.

“Yeah!” Astre chirped, grinning. “Are you still gonna be my servant if I’m just an earl and not a king?”

Sebastian smiled in return before inclining his head.

“Yes, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asters are perennial, daisy-like flowers whose name is derived from the Greek word "astron," meaning star. Purple asters generally symbolize wisdom and royalty, and the flower is also associated with devotion, purity, and faith.


	9. Sebagni: Matrimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in the same AU as my multichap fic Metanoia. I’ll eventually include a more polished version of the scene below in that fic, but given how slowly I update, I don’t see any harm in letting y’all read this now.

“Why did you bring me out here, sunshine?” Sebastian asked, tilting his head inquisitively. Agni had taken him aside during a lull in their daily activities to stand by one of the windows overlooking the estate. Though bearing no distinctive features, this particular window was special. They’d shared their first kiss on this very spot, a momentous occasion that was indelibly etched into the demon’s long memory as if cut by diamond. Agni’s hands shook, though it was difficult to say whether nervousness or excitement was to blame. Fumbling at his sash, he retrieved a small velvet bag, opened it, and emptied its contents into his palm.

A golden ring. Sebastian was transfixed by the light gleaming upon it. Tentatively, Agni clasped the butler’s left hand before removing his glove (prompting the demon to cast a hasty glamour to cover the contract seal) and slipping it onto his finger. For several interminable seconds, Sebastian was stupefied. When humans in this part of the world put a ring on _that_ specific finger…no, no, he must be mistaken. Coming from India, Agni was probably unfamiliar with the custom.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “It’s beautiful, dear…but normally this is where a wedding band would go.”

Agni took both of Sebastian’s hands in his, those eyes glowing with the radiance of his kind, righteous soul. “I know, and it’s high time my husband wore one there.”

“Your…” Sebastian stuttered uncomprehendingly.

“I know we can’t be as open about it as we’d like, but I was thinking about what Lord Midford said last week, and, well…in all the ways that matter, what you and I have _is_ a marriage,” Agni continued. “Everything he spoke of—respect, trust, loyalty through good times and bad, laughing with one another, learning from each other, building a life together—that’s _us._ I-I guess I just wanted to give you something to show how I felt,” he concluded, blushing.

During his sojourns on Earth, Sebastian had grown accustomed to being used and abused by selfish masters as a tool, a weapon, albeit one that always turned on them in the end. In hell, he was the eccentric marquis who other demons spurned due to his pride and irrepressible love for cats. Yet Agni desired more than a few nights in Sebastian’s bed; he truly wanted to “build a life together,” every syllable ringing with sincerity. _By all the nine circles, he **wants** me._

Agni’s face began to warp and blur, distorted by a strange fluid that suddenly filled Sebastian’s eyes and ran down his face like rain trickling down a windowpane. Tears? Demons never wept. Such a thing was utterly alien to their nature. He stared up in bewilderment at Agni, overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Dreadfully undignified behavior for a Phantomhive butler,” he whispered in a voice so cracked and vulnerable that he himself almost didn’t recognize it.

Agni wrapped his arms around him, and the khansama rubbed Sebastian’s back soothingly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay to cry,” he murmured as the demon’s tears continued to flow. “Shh, shh.”

“My husband,” Sebastian whispered. He recalled Lord Midford’s words. ‘When Frances and I were joined in holy matrimony, I knew myself to be the happiest of men, not merely in England, but in all the world.’ The nobleman couldn’t have been entirely correct, though, for the demon knew that blessed personage to be none other than Sebastian Michaelis.


	10. Redcliff: The kiss of death casts out loneliness

This was not a scarlet evening. She and Grelle would not take to the streets, avenging furies hunting down the whores who tossed aside their most precious gift like it was rubbish. No blood, no pathetic screams for mercy, no womb clutched, warm and dripping, in An’s frenzied grasp. Tonight, Grelle would be off to her “dispatch,” leaving An to the solitude of a house far too vast for one woman, with only darkness, silence, and memories for company. Tattered dreams and rusted wishes of what might have been, what would never be. She couldn’t bear it.

“Please don’t let me be alone!” she cried, grabbing the reaper’s coatsleeve. Grelle turned, surprise flickering in her phosphorescent green eyes. Shivers wracked An’s frame as if she’d been stricken with ague.

“Madame, this isn’t like you,” Grelle chided, tilting An’s chin up and scrutinizing her worriedly.

“ _Please_ , Grelle, don’t leave me, not tonight. I need you, I _love_ you—”

The goddess’s eyes blazed in the darkness, and she bent down to kiss An. Those lips bore the chill of mortality itself, but they brought her comfort. An knotted her fingers in that exquisite mane of hair, going deeper, desperate for this reassurance that Grelle was with her in spirit as well as in body.

“I never could resist a beautiful woman, especially one who’s so very _red_.” Effortlessly, Grelle scooped up An in her arms bridal-style and whisked her off to their bedroom.

“I’m all you need, darling,” the reaper vowed, chest heaving in passion as she removed An’s nightshift to caress what lay beneath.

“You’ll always be mine?”

Painted lips brushed covetously across her wrists, throat, clavicle.

“I’m yours, my sweetling. We burn so brightly together, Lina!”

“Grelle…” An’s hand clawed down the other woman’s back when she took the reaper inside her.

“Lina,” the reaper moaned in ecstasy before kissing the spot where her pulse throbbed beneath delicate skin. “My dearest An.”


	11. Sebagrelle: A glory to behold

Sebastian gasped when Grelle appeared at the head of the stairs. Her velvet dress was redder than the holly berry, with white ermine fur trim gracing the sleeves, and a diamond necklace glittered at her throat. The reaper’s hair was held up in an intricate bun, and her eyelids were burnished gold. Not that she had need for makeup—those were the eyes of a second Cleopatra, piercing the heart and bringing you to your knees in adoration. The demon realized that he had been gazing up at Grelle in silence, lips parted in a happy smile. Hoping she hadn’t noticed (though resigning himself to the fact that she probably had), he bowed deeply.

“You look…amazing,” he told her, wishing there was a word in his vast vocabulary that properly described Grelle’s beauty.

“I know, darling,” she laughed, descending the stairs at a monarch’s dignified pace. “You’re quite the handsome one yourself, Bassy.” Sebastian felt a rush of mingled relief and satisfaction at having met the red lady’s standards. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “May I have this dance, Miss Sutcliff?”

“How could I possibly refuse you, you charmer?” she purred.

On that cold Christmas Eve night, while humans huddled beneath the covers and dreamed of the gifts St. Nicholas would bring, demon and reaper waltzed.


	12. Sebastian and Finnian: Tears can move a heart of stone

A sickening, splintering sound, followed by a remorseful wail. Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb and sighed as if he carried Atlas’s burden upon his shoulders. In a sense, he  
supposed he did. Running the Phantomhive household and cleaning up the messes these incompetent buffoons made would try the patience of a saint, let alone that of a demon. Especially when said messes were made by the blond boy sniffling and staring at the pulverized remains of what had once been a shovel.

“That’s your fourth damaged item this week, Finnian, and it’s only Tuesday,” Sebastian said wearily.

He was confronted with a pair of tearful, plaintive eyes brimming with sincere repentance.

“I-I’m really sorry, Mr. Sebastian! S-so sorry, I am!!!” Finny sobbed.

Barely holding his temper in check, Sebastian snapped, “‘Sorry’ won’t magically repair that shovel, Finnian. It honestly astounds me how little progress you’ve made.”

The depth of hurt in Finny’s innocent green eyes halted the demon’s tirade. Neither anger nor resentment distorted the boy’s features, though a part of Sebastian wished they did. He knew how to deal with the darkness lurking in the human psyche. But this perilously strong yet gentle-natured boy, utterly crushed at having disappointed him, _caring_ about what the butler thought of him, flummoxed Sebastian.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he sternly told Finny, but his voice wavered. Finny just stared up at him like a wounded deer. Damn it all! Against his better judgement, Sebastian caved.

“Fine,” he said huffily. “We’ll let this pass for now. I’ll go get you a new one—and _please_ don’t break it this time.”

Finny instantly transformed into a beaming, radiant cherub. “Thank you, Mr. Sebastian, sir, thank you, thank you!”

“Just this once!” Sebastian scolded him. He tried not to dwell on why the young mortal’s smile made his burden feel lighter.


	13. Frances and Elizabeth Midford: Taking up her sword

It had been about a week since the terrifying events aboard the _Campania_ , when Lizzy had thrown her cuteness aside like a ragged, ill-fitting dress to save the boy she loved. She’d been doing her best to forget those disgusting corpses, their jerky movements like marionettes on a string, their gaping, hungry maws, the coppery sprays of blood. However, those images still poisoned her dreams and haunted her waking thoughts, and their shadows dimmed the light behind her emerald green eyes. Lizzy tried to hide her feelings; she didn’t want Edward or her parents to worry. Of course, Mother saw more than most.

Lizzy was listlessly donning her fencing gear for a practice session with her mother when Lady Midford sat beside her. “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?”

Lizzy steeled herself to give a cheerful smile and assure Mother that nothing was wrong, absolutely nothing. Instead, she burst into tears. “I…It’s…I can’t stop thinking of what happened—there on the ship. Ciel c-could have _died_! We could have died! I know it’s silly and stupid, but I keep wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t been strong enough…w-what if I had let Ciel down and f-failed to protect him…”

Frances Midford rarely fell prey to sentiment, but she wrapped her weeping daughter in her arms.

“We’re all stronger than we think we are,” Lizzy heard her mother say. “You, Edward, your father, me, even that disreputable butler…we knew what had to be done to protect the passengers and our loved ones, and we drew no quarter. Together, we averted the crisis and destroyed…whatever those wretched creatures were. You did your part, Elizabeth, and you did me proud.” Mother’s voice caught on the last few words. Lizzy drew in a shaky breath and smiled through her tears. Her mother drew back, grasping her gently but firmly by the shoulders. “Now, let’s get on with our fencing practice. No matter what, you have to pick up your sword and keep moving forward, both for your own sake and for your future husband’s.”

Lizzy set her jaw and nodded resolutely. She was more than a cute little girl in pink. She was Elizabeth Midford, and she’d be strong for Ciel.


	14. Sebagrelle: Up in our bedroom after the war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in my You Reap What You Sow AU. Sebastian has recently taken O!Ciel’s soul, and he and Grelle have rented a hotel room to enjoy a few days of privacy together before Grelle reveals their relationship to the dispatch.
> 
> The inspiration for the title and the piece itself stems from the song "In Our Bedroom After The War" (by the Canadian band Stars).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “All the living are dead and the dead are all living.  
> The war is over and we are beginning.”
> 
> —from “In Our Bedroom After the War” by Stars

The back of his left hand was unblemished ivory—a clean slate. It was morning, and light illuminated the small hotel room that gave them shelter in the aftermath of his master’s last days. Floorboards glowed golden; the white bedsheets were almost blinding. Rays of sunshine also gilded the reaper’s hair that spilled out on the pillow, setting it ablaze. Sebastian brushed aside her bangs and smiled tenderly. Morpheus’s hand softened the face of Lady Death, erasing the painful memories that far too often flickered behind those chartreuse eyes in her waking hours. The demon’s finger traced the freckles scattered across her face like constellations. If he looked long enough, could he read his destiny in those stars like the ancient astrologists? Sebastian shook his head and chuckled at his own fanciful notions. Miss Sutcliff told him love made you do all manner of absurd things. What sort of demon would make his abode on Earth rather than return to his domain in hell after a contract reached its conclusion? For the sake of a grim reaper, no less! A fiery, passionate, inimitably perfect grim reaper…

That _hair_ , flowing through his fingers like reams of silk, or like water. His eyes narrowed to slits as he purred happily, a deep rumble in his chest. Sebastian’s time as the Earl Phantomhive’s butler had come to an end, but his life with Grelle was just beginning. In a few days, they would have to plea his case before the other reapers, which was likely to be an unpleasant task. Few death gods would rejoice that one of their own had chosen a demon for a mate. Grelle shifted and tucked her hands beneath her head, lips quirking upward as she sensed Sebastian’s touch from the depths of a dream. Captivating.

“My charmer,” he whispered. Past violence and strife were behind them now, like dust kicked up by a carriage’s wheels and carried away on the wind. The future was a haze that even a devil’s keen eyes couldn’t pierce. For now, though, they had the silent peace of their little room, and each other. They would build anew from the ashes.


	15. Sebastian and Rachel Angelina: A ray of sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel Angelina, who you may recognize from the oneshot "A Different Shade of Black," is one of my Kuroshitsuji OCs. In this AU, Sebastian lets O!Ciel live out his natural lifespan. The earl marries Lizzy and has several children with her, of whom Rachel is the eldest.

Sunlight danced in the nursery where Sebastian was “testing” a new Funtom board game with his bright-eyed, chattering companion. Pretty in pink, four-year-old Rachel Angelina triumphantly moved her small metal rabbit token five spaces forward. The game, called “Rabbits, Run!” involved maneuvering your rabbit through sinister forests, noxious swamps, and prickly briar patches in order to reach the carrot patch before the gun-toting Farmer MacGregor spotted you. It entailed a level of strategic planning beyond most children Miss Rachel’s age, especially when their opponent happened to be Sebastian Michaelis. Of course, Miss Rachel was a Phantomhive, and coming from good stock made all the difference.

She bounced up and down, clapping her hands and giggling. “Look, Bastian! I did it! I DID it! My bunny got a cawwot!”

“He did indeed,” the demon smiled. “He was lucky to have such a cunning champion.”

“But I’ll let you win next time!” Rachel declared, magnanimous in victory.

He inclined his head. “You are too kind, my lady.”

The gap-toothed grin she bestowed on him far outshone Helios’s splendor. Or rather, it was as if the light in the room had been transmuted into this feisty little countess, with her golden ringlets and shining eyes. She stretched out her arms to him, and Sebastian promptly gathered her in a hug. The glacial chill of a demon’s heart didn’t stand a chance against this child of the sun.


	16. Midcliff: Our bundle of joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in an AU where Frances and Grelle become a couple and have a daughter named Eloise, who was co-created by deadly-safety-scissors and me on Tumblr.

Grelle sat cross-legged on the floor and fondly watched Frances dandle the baby on her knee. The formidable countess was no match for their girl’s charms, her stern, patrician features softened by maternal affection. Eloise was a vision in her green velvet gown, which brought out the color of her eyes until they shone like emeralds. A shock of fine, silvery hair graced her head, shining like an angel’s halo when the light struck it just right. She opened her mouth in a happy gurgle, and Grelle could see the sharp teeth their daughter had inherited from her.

“My little silver sixpence. _Ma belle fille_!” she cooed in delight, taking Eloise’s chubby hands and kissing each and every one of those delicate fingers. “Look at how tiny you are, like a rosebud!”

The reaper still had difficulty accepting that this darling babe was really _hers_. She was a mother now. At last, at last!

She grinned up at her beloved. “We _made_ her, Frannie.”

Frances raised an eyebrow. “Need I remind you that _I_ was the one who carried her for nine months?”

Grelle raised her hand to her lips. Unlike the little butterfly kisses bestowed on Eloise, this one burned with passion. “And I am eternally grateful, my love.”

“No need to be sentimental,” Frances murmured, but she couldn’t hide the pink that suddenly tinted her cheeks.


	17. Sebastian and Ciel: Cocoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in my Musician AU, where O!Ciel is a young singer, songwriter, and composer who has been adopted by Sebastian.

Rain poured in freezing torrents from the slate-grey January sky. That didn’t bother Ciel, though. Unlike people who gushed over days filled with bushels of sunshine, he’d always been a pluviophile. The soothing sound of raindrops falling to earth made the perfect accompaniment for his thoughts while he was composing or scribbling down ideas for new lyrics. He sat at the kitchen table in a large, comfy blue hoodie and sweatpants that were a few sizes too big, hunched over his journal and jotting down fragments that he might eventually piece together into a song like the collected shards of a mosaic.

Or not. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he crossed out yet another line that just didn’t seem _right_ anymore. He only needed one more song for his upcoming album to be complete, but inspiration had deserted him.

Suddenly, a black-nailed hand whisked the journal away, replacing it with a mug of hot chocolate. “High time for a break, I think.”

“But _Daaaaad_ —”

“Trust me,” his foster father said as he seated himself next to Ciel, holding his own mug of cocoa. “Sometimes your mind comes up with the best ideas when it’s given a chance to rest.”

Ciel rolled his eyes but perked up when he saw the generous dollop of whipped cream with chocolate shavings.

“Aren’t you scared I’ll get cavities from this?” he teased Sebastian after taking the first sip (it tasted amazing, like all the treats his guardian made).

“You deserve a pick-me up after camping out here for hours,” Sebastian smiled. “Though I think you should be more worried about that new whipped-cream mustache. It ages you ten years at least.”

Ciel stuck out his tongue and wiped his mouth with a napkin (Sebastian would scold him if he used his hoodie sleeve) before returning his attention to the hot chocolate. The kitchen felt peaceful and calm, with Sebastian sitting companionably next to him and the rain drops plashing outside.

That was it!

Ciel eagerly grabbed his pen and journal, almost knocking over his mug. “Careful!” Sebastian admonished, but the boy barely heard him in the grip of his excitement.

Ciel’s pen flew across the page. Cocoa. Rain. Sebastian. Seemingly unconnected, but lay them out together like notes on the staff and you got _home_. “Gotta…write this down…now,” he muttered in apology. It might fly out of his head if he waited and tried to remember it later.

Sebastian laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You have to strike while the iron is hot. Just don’t let your drink get cold!”

That was how one of Ciel’s greatest hits, “In Our Own Little Corner,” sprang into being…a song describing the love shared between father and son, and the home they had made together.


	18. Sebamey: Impossible

“Shall I show you a magic trick, my dear?”

Mey Rin’s eyes widened in curiosity behind her round spectacles.

“What sorta trick?”

“I will pluck beautiful flowers for you from thin air,” he declared, punctuating the statement with a grandiose gesture like a stage magician.

The maid giggled. “Oh, I’m not sure you can do that. It’s impossible, it is!”

“Anything is possible, Mey, no matter how wild or improbable it may seem. Why, a whole bouquet is hiding behind that pretty ear of yours.”

His gloved fingers reached at empty air, and thirteen black roses appeared in his hand, tied neatly with an ebony ribbon. A portion of his power drained away, expended in the act of creating something from nothing. That was the nature of magic—it always had a price. But the joy and wonder on Mey Rin’s face far outweighed the cost.

“Oh, they’re the luvliest things!” she gushed. Mey Rin stroked the petals, which were softer than satin and darker than a raven’s wing. “I don’t know how you did it, no I don’t!”

Sebastian put a finger to his lips and winked. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Suffice it to say that turning the impossible into reality is a butler’s _raison d'être_.”

Mey Rin little suspected her own power. Any conjurer worth his salt could pull a rabbit from a hat, but this woman had captured a demon’s heart.


	19. Sebagni: The torch of love is lit in the kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble features female Sebastian ("Sébastienne") and Agni. Our favorite trash demon is still genderfluid rather than genderbent--just presenting differently than in canon. The story is set in what I’m calling the Black Governess AU. In this incarnation, Fembastian is a bit closer to the female version drawn by Yana, albeit not quite as voluptuous and with much longer hair (which she keeps up in a bun). She tends to wear black, high-necked dresses and is a tall, imposing figure (though not as tall as Miss Agni!). Fem!Agni is basically identical to Yana’s official genderbent sketch.

The synchrony with which the two women moved as they cooked together was disconcertingly natural, at least in the governess’s mind. The serene, statuesque Agni looked more divine than mortal, eyes aglow with happiness and graceful hands dancing as she stirred the bubbling curry or added a pinch of spice. Her blessed right hand was unbound, and Sébastienne could perceive the holy fire flaring about it. Even though Kali’s power repelled the demon, Agni herself drew Sébastienne in. She couldn’t shake how completely _at ease_ she felt with the khansama. Surely they’d always been like this, the infernal governess garbed in black and her gracious companion with a smile that put the sun to shame. Sébastienne gave the white braid trailing down her back a playful tug while she passed Agni the next ingredient. Agni patted her cheek affectionately and laughed, a warm, musical sound that subjected the governess’s heart to a sudden fit of palpitations. Sébastienne was left in such a state that she stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet—

Strong arms encircled her waist and drew her close. “I’ve got you,” Agni reassured in her mellifluous contralto. The governess sensed the divine energy of Kali roiling upon contact with the diabolical, but her dress provided a measure of protection. Somehow, Sébastienne’s hands had moved to clutch the front of Agni’s dress. She stole a furtive look at her bosom before meeting gentle eyes that shone with kindness and concern.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, dear,” Sébastienne purred. “Thank you for catching me.” And what better way to show her gratitude than by reaching up for a tender kiss? She smiled in quiet satisfaction at the blush that spread over the khansama’s lovely face.

_I’ve got you, too, my dear_ , she thought as they returned their attention (with some difficulty) to the curry. _All mine_.


	20. Sieglizzy: Just the way you are

“…and I got to ride that pretty chestnut horse Father bought for my birthday, and we had the merriest time in the world!”

Lizzy chattered gaily to her dark-haired companion about horseback riding with Edward. It had been two weeks since she’d paid Sieglinde Sullivan a call, and she was delighted to see her new friend again. Then she caught a glimpse of those emerald green eyes, and the words died on her lips. Sieglinde’s lively, vivacious expression had been supplanted by a deep sadness. The other girl glanced down at her legs, which dangled limply from the plush sofa where she and Elizabeth sat.

“What’s the matter?” Lizzy asked anxiously.

Siegelinde chewed her bottom lip. “It’s…I must be pretty boring to you, sometimes. Even with my inventions, there’s so much I can’t do because of my legs…and…well, wouldn’t you rather be out having fun instead of being stuck here with me?”

Lizzy’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes grew hot with tears.

“How could you say something like that?!” she sobbed, throwing her arms around Sieglinde. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you! You’re dreadfully clever—one of the smartest people I know! I’ve never met anyone like you before. Who cares if there are some things you can’t do? You’re amazing just the way you are!”

Sieglinde’s arms wrapped about Lizzy’s midriff as tight as they could. Impulsively, Lizzy kissed the top of her head. Both she and Sieglinde blushed, though Lizzy wasn’t sure why. Sieglinde nestled against the crook of her neck. “You’re amazing too, you know,” she whispered.


	21. Sebamey: The unexpected guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story features vampire!Fembastian and is set in an AU that one of my partners in crime on Tumblr, bapydemonprincess, has been discussing with me. Used with permission.

“My goodness.”

Sebastian stood in the doorway, holding her candelabra aloft as she scrutinized the unforeseen visitor who had arrived at her gloomy estate. The young woman wore a dark green cloak, serviceable brown trousers, and a rifle strapped over her shoulder. She was dirty and bedraggled, covered in mud and soaked to the bone by the rain that pounded down. Her large brown eyes narrowed in a squint, as if she was trying to get a clearer look at Sebastian.

“Sorry for intrudin’ like this, I am, but…but I’m travelin’ through the area, and my horse threw me an’ bolted when he got spooked by lightning, an’ I f-found this place by accident…”

Then the wind changed direction, and the scent of her blood wafted toward the vampire. Sweet, not cloyingly so, but like spring flowers. Sebastian _knew_ it would taste ambrosial when it spilled into her mouth, molten gold flowing across her tongue. The longing set her frame atremble, but she held it in check. It would hardly be aesthetic to pounce on this stranger like a rampaging beast. Sebastian felt a rare bit of color rise to her cheeks as she gazed into the woman’s large, expressive eyes. No, there were other, more _elegant_ ways to obtain a mortal’s blood.

“Oh, my…my name’s Mey Rin, by the way,” the traveler concluded breathlessly.

Sebastian smiled, though she was careful to conceal her fangs.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Mey Rin. You may stay the night here until the storm passes. Perhaps dinner and a bath would also be in order?”

“Oh thank you, miss, thank you ever so much!”

A kind smile lit up her tired, bruised face. Sebastian’s excitement redoubled. Humans didn’t often venture into her domain, but she could tell that this one was something special. The vampire offered Mey Rin her hand, and it was gratefully accepted. How fleeting yet delicious mortals’ warmth was!

“My pleasure. Come with me, my dear.”


	22. Grellrin: More than enough

Mey Rin was in a shambles. She’d been secretly pining after Madame Red’s butler for weeks, but she’d never dreamed that Grelle would return her feelings, let alone make a _confession_! She shook while Grelle clasped her hands. Grelle looked so _sweet_ , with her freckles and those beautiful, shining eyes and the tousled hair that had slipped free from her cute red ribbon.

Judging by her distraught expression, the butler must have picked up on Mey Rin’s confusion. “I’m sorry for springing this on you out of the blue, darling, it’s just…I _had_ to tell you how I felt. I would’ve _burst_ if I kept it to myself much longer. But I-I understand if you don’t reciprocate those feelings, I’m accustomed to that—”

“Oh! That isn’t it at all, no it isn’t!” Mey Rin cried. How could anyone in their right mind turn down someone like Grelle? “I _do_ feel the same! It’s just…I’m j-just wonderin’…why me?”

Grelle’s eloquent eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, darling?”

“There ain’t nothing special about me, not really, an’ I don’t know the first thing about courtin’ or romance…”

“Mey Rin!” The other women pressed her forehead against hers. “Because you’re loving and kind. Because you’re patient with me no matter how clumsy I am. Because you bring light wherever you go.”

Mey Rin’s heart was about to leap out of her chest. Grelle thought all that about _her_?

“It’s fine that this is new for you, my sweet; you don’t have to do anything differently. Be _you_. No one else can. That will be more than enough.”

Mey Rin was so overwhelmed by happiness when Grelle kissed her that she almost cried.


	23. Sebagrelle: I'll cover you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot features human photographer Grelle and her muse, the genderfluid, female-presenting demon Sebastian. The photographer AU belongs to bapydemonprincess on Tumblr and is used with permission.

A blustery wind whipped through the streets, and snow crunched underfoot. To Grelle’s horror, however, her girlfriend was not dressed appropriately for the frigid weather _at all_. Sebastian wore only a sheer, ephemeral top (her trademark black) and an equally flimsy skirt. The demon’s expression was unperturbed, but she gave Grelle a surprised look when the photographer turned in the doorway to their apartment, barring her from leaving.

“What’s the matter, _rufina_?”

“The _matter_ , my little Sebas, is that you’ll freeze in that outfit!”

“Miss Sutcliff, demons naturally produce their own heat—”

“But you’re tiny! You’ll catch your death if you step out the door.”

“M-miss Sutcliff—”

“Take my jacket, darling. It’s cold outside.”

Grelle shrugged off her red jacket and placed it around the demon’s shoulders. The garment almost swallowed her up, but Grelle felt relieved on seeing Sebastian protected from the elements.

“That’s better.” She smiled down at the demon, who blushed profusely.

“Really, Grelle…now _you’ll_ be the one who’s cold.”

Grelle laughed and smoothed Sebastian’s hair into place. “That’s fine by me, _mon coeur_. I wouldn’t want my precious black rose to be frozen solid.”

“How absurd,” the demon muttered, even as her blush deepened. She couldn’t help but purr when Grelle leaned down to kiss her forehead.


	24. Sebagni: Tipsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set after the main action in my ongoing multichap Metanoia; in other words, post-contract. Agni and Sebastian have been living together under Prince Soma’s service for a few years now, and Agni is fully aware of Sebastian’s true identity.

Agni had gone out that evening on an errand for his prince. He hadn’t taken long, but that had apparently been ample time for Sebastian to get into mischief. Raucous laughter burst from the drawing room, giddy and utterly uninhibited. A beloved voice sang in a language that Agni didn’t recognize. Though his husband usually wasn’t so loud or off-key…

Sebastian danced alone, swaying clumsily as the dark miasma of his essence swirled around him. His eyes blazed their true, vivid red, and his teeth reverted to the fangs he normally kept hidden. Sebastian’s face immediately lit up when he spotted Agni. His happiness glowed like a holy altar festooned with candles as he proffered a black-nailed hand.

“You’re baaaack! Dance with me, dearest. How I’ve- _hic!_ -missed you! So cruel to leave me by myself, so cruel.” Agni quickly took Sebastian’s hand and drew him close. Sebastian fell against Agni’s chest and nuzzled the crook of his neck. The khansama could sense the demon’s tentacles twining lovingly around his legs and waist, like dark ivy.

“Are you drunk, Sebastian?” Mortal food and drink generally held little appeal for demons, but his husband clearly wasn’t sober at the moment.

Sebastian, however, was busy kissing his neck, purring up a storm all the while. Giggling, he touched the tip of his nose against Agni’s. He slurred, “Not _drunk_ , sunshine. Jus’ thought I’d try a lit-tle wine from the cellar while you w’re away. Ac’tlly tasted good…better than some soulsss I’ve had. Delicious…”

Agni examined his rubicund visage in concern. Was it _safe_ for demons to imbibe alcohol?

“How much did you have, my love?” he asked softly, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist to help him stay upright.

“Ummm…” Sebastian took a moment to kiss Agni’s hand before replying, a gesture that made Agni blush in spite of his worry. “Two ‘n a half bottles…? I- _hic!_ -need t’ finish the last one…”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” the khansama interjected in a tone that was gentle but brooked no argument.

Sebastian plaintively widened his beautiful eyes. “ _Sunshiiine_.” Even this flushed and disheveled, he looked so lovely that Agni couldn’t help but kiss him. Sebastian’s tentacles hugged him tighter, and his purring intensified. “Now, let’s put you to bed so you can sleep this off,” Agni suggested, rubbing Sebastian’s back.

“But want…to dance…” The demon’s eyelids fluttered, and his head lolled drowsily against Agni’s shoulder. With infinite care, the khansama lifted him bridal-style.

“There’ll be time enough for dancing, moonlight. All our lives.”

Sebastian looped an arm around his neck and clung to Agni like a limpet. Then came a rustling sound. Six raven-feathered wings suddenly embraced Agni, soft and warm.

“I love you…so _much_ ,” Sebastian whispered.

Tears blinded Agni's eyes. Demons were taciturn creatures, and his husband was no exception. For him to come out and _say_ it…

“I love you too, Sebastian.”


	25. Sebagrelle: Shameless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my You Reap What You Sow Sebagrelle AU

“ _Non, je ne regrette rien_!” Grelle belted out as she stood on top of their table. The restaurant’s other patrons gawped at this glamorous woman clad in silk, whose rich, sensuous voice saturated the air with crimson.

“You have no shame, do you?” Sebastian smirked, leaning back in his chair. She made quite the spectacle, and desire slashed through his chest like a marauder’s blade when he looked at her. This glorious actress was _his_ woman.

She grinned down at him unrepentently. “I’m afraid not, Bassy darling.”

“Care if I join you?”

Her lashes fluttered, and flames danced beneath his skin. “Come, _mon fleur du mal_.”

After vaulting up to stand at his wife’s side, the demon intertwined his fingers with hers. “Let’s give them a show,” he breathed before kissing her rose-red mouth. He nicked his tongue against her teeth, relishing the taste of copper. Grelle said she could never decide if their love was more like a sonnet or a weapon. They waltzed on a knife’s edge, keeping time to a passionate, eternal rhythm.

“Dance with me, Mrs. Sutcliff-Michaelis.”

“Always, my little Sebas.”

The petty, humdrum humans squealed indignantly as the two leapt from table to table, nimble feet darting between china plates and sparkling wine glasses without spilling so much as a drop.

“Now, see here—!” a waiter sputtered furiously.

Sebastian and Grelle simply laughed. The demon reached out to pluck a glass of champagne from the tray he carried and proffered it to his lady. After all, he, too, was shameless.


	26. Grellrin: A letter in red ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a prequel of sorts to my oneshot “A Lady’s Bandage.” In this AU, Grelle and Mey Rin began a relationship while the reaper was posing as Madame’s butler. However, Mey Rin doesn’t learn that she’s a goddess of death until after the circus arc, when Grelle leaves her this letter so that they can reunite and the red reaper can tell all. Mey Rin’s spent the time prior to receiving the letter convinced that Grelle was killed by Jack the Ripper along with An.

_My dearest Mey-Mey,_

_I am alive, or as alive as any woman such as I can be. Forgive me for not writing sooner, darling. Certain forces were conspiring to keep me from you until now. Even afterwards, I have stared at blank pages for hours on end, or scribbled down my frantic thoughts only to toss them into the rubbish._

_I miss you._

_I miss the way your eyes shine when you’re happy, like dark honey when the sun strikes it just so. I miss the lovely things you would say to me in Chinese (though I didn’t understand a word), that language turning your voice into birdsong. I miss the rhythm of your hips against mine when I made love to you, and the taste of you on my tongue, sweet like marzipan. I miss your blush at the randy nonsense I’d whisper in your ear, and your dear little giggle at my jokes, even the ones that weren’t that clever. I miss the family you built with Bard and Finny, and how you welcomed me, who had no family, into it with open hearts. I miss your beautiful fingers—pulling a trigger, or gliding against my skin. I miss your clumsiness and your kindness. I miss your easy acceptance, how you treated me as a woman without a second thought and tried your best to understand. I miss you more than I’d miss my own heart, were it to be carved out of my chest and tossed to the ground, lacerated and bleeding._

_I miss you, Mey Rin._

_But what can I possibly say after leaving you without warning? You must hate me, my sweet, or think me monstrously cruel. Perhaps I am a monster. It might be better if I set you free for someone who is actually worthy of you…but ladies are selfish creatures, and I am loath to let you go._

_You’ve shown me what love can feel like. Not the bastard love that cuts and bruises, but a love that made me whole for the first time in my life._

_Would you wait for me in the garden tonight,_ mon amour _?_ Our _spot? I have much to tell you, but it should be said face-to-face, not with plain paper and ink._

_With boundless affection and fiery passion,_

_Your Grelle_


	27. Midcliff: Thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a vampire AU roleplay I did a while back with my girlfriend on her blog pcwertorule. Grelle is a vampire who falls in love with the human huntress Frances Midford.

“You smell so _good_ , darling,” Grelle moaned, hungrily nuzzling at France’s neck. They had retired to bed for the evening, and the mortal woman looked positively _ravishing_ in her sheer white nightgown. Her patrician features bore a cold beauty worthy of Artemis or Pallas Athene, though the flaxen hair that tumbled about her shoulders gave them a softer cast. Grelle could see her pulse beating beneath the ivory column of her throat, the smell so enticing as to be irre _sis_ tible…

“Do you honestly think you can flatter me into giving you more of my blood?” Frances scoffed, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I merely speak the truth, dearest Franny. Please, love. Just a mouthful.”

“If I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile, Grelle Sutcliff.”

“But don’t you _liiiike_ it when I go the whole mile?” Grelle wheedled. Her hand slyly reached out to cup Frances’s breast, and her thumb rubbed her nipple in slow, leisurely circles. A tint of color rose to Frances’s cheeks.

“Ah, there it is, the passion you keep locked away in your lily-white bosom! Won’t you let it free for meeee?” Still fondling her, Grelle avariciously kissed her neck. Though she licked and sucked at the skin, she was careful not to break it…yet.

“Mn.” Frances’s heartbeat quickened, and the perfume of her blood nearly made Grelle swoon. “You take…considerable liberties,” the human panted. Grelle noticed, however, that she didn’t utter a word of protest when the vampire draped herself against her. Frances’s lissome legs intertwined with hers and locked into place.

“Come now,” Grelle cooed, hitching up her lover’s nightgown to stroke the toned abdomen that rippled beneath. “Let me treat you.” When there was a bond between vampire and vessel, blood-drinking was an immensely pleasurable act, more potent than the strongest aphrodisiacs.

“As if you don’t want to treat yourself just as much,” Frances snorted, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile.

“Is that a yes, my treasure? May I quaff from you?” Grelle ran her tongue from the base of Frances’s neck to the edge of her earlobe, which she nibbled daintily.

Her golden lashes fluttered. “Not…to excess…but you may drink.” Even on the cusp of succumbing, her voice carried a stern note.

“ _Ma reine_ ,” the vampire moaned. Her fangs plunged into her lover’s neck.


	28. Frances and Alexis: I can't let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is set after is set after Frances first defeats Alexis during their duel but before they’re officially courting.

Alexis was sent sprawling into the dust, Frances’s sword at his throat. His stern-faced Valkyrie had triumphed once again. An incredible woman, Frances Phantomhive. Alexis had been practicing with her this afternoon in order to hone his skills. Iron sharpening iron, and all that.

“You gave me an opening, Marquess! Only a moment, but it was enough for me to breach your defenses,” Frances barked at him. Alexis smiled up at her in adoration. A lock of golden hair had escaped her painfully tight bun to fall over her face. The imperfection merely enhanced her loveliness.

“You are truly a superior opponent, Lady Phantomhive. I consider it an honor to have sparred with you,” Alexis gushed. He couldn’t seem to contain himself around her, even though he knew he must appear a damnable fool in her eyes. Frances sighed and helped him to his feet. “Be that as it may, your swordsmanship still wants improvement, Marquess. I expect better of the head knight of England.” She cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him. “Especially as this is the third time I agreed to practice with you.”

Alexis bowed his head. “I hope I’m not wasting your time, Lady Phantomhive, but…I don’t think I can let go.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I…I need to improve, to…better myself. You challenge me in a way that few have. And…only through such struggle can I become a true exemplar.” Lady Frances’s iron will, indomitable spirit, and flashing green eyes also captivated him, but Alexis knew she was far too good for the likes of him.

“Hmm.” She tilted her chin, her gaze darkening into inscrutability as she sized him up.

“Persistence is an admirable virtue, one that few men possess in full.” She pensively sheathed her sword. Then, she looked back at him, and the keenness and clarity shone anew.

“I will meet you again to-morrow, if you so desire. 2 o’ clock sharp. Please be prompt.”

Before Alexis had time to thank her, she spun on her heel and walked off.

Frances wondered why she continued to see this man. Earnest and upright, yes, but too easygoing by half, and wearing his heart on his sleeve in a most unbecoming fashion. Did he realize how _obvious_ he was when he looked at her? But the sunny smile, that noble spirit, the kind, open face…Frances sighed. _I don’t think I can let go, either_.


	29. Redcliff: A recollection in scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in solitary confinement, Grelle reminisces about happier times with Madame Red.

_How do I look, darling?’ Grelle sang out while she posed in front of the mirror. On a whim, she and An were rifling through the noblewoman’s wardrobe, and the reaper was delighted by her mistress’s marvelous hats. Such a wide variety, and all in myriad shades of_ red _. This one was her favorite of the bunch: A broad-brimmed affair festooned with ribbons and white velvet flowers whose petals exuberantly unfurled, as ostentatious and defiantly beautiful as the woman to whom it belonged._

_‘Halfway tolerable,’ An replied, arching an eyebrow. But the scarlet flaring in her cheeks and the hunger burning in her carmine eyes told a different story._

_‘Jealous of your pretty partner in crime?’ An’s blush deepened. Envy wasn’t to blame for the way that glorious bosom heaved when she looked at Grelle._

_The Madame plucked her hat from Grelle’s head. ‘It’s an atrocious display of bad manners for a butler to purloin her mistress’s things, you know.’_

_Grelle bowed in a parody of deferential remorse. ‘How may I atone for this sin, my lady?’_

_‘Hmm.’ A hand shot out and buried itself in Grelle’s hair, pulling her up to meet An’s feverish gaze. ‘A kiss would suffice.’ And just like that, An was in her arms. The hat lay forgotten on the floor like a withered leaf torn from an autumnal branch. Grelle only had thought for the scarlet mouth that painted her lips the color of blood._

Her head jerked up. She’d let her mind race heedlessly along memory’s glittering trail without considering the painful rocks lying in wait to bruise and trip her. That had been damn foolish.

How cold and dreary, this solitary cell. She grimaced at the iron manacles that encircled her wrists. Numbly, she stared at the black-gloved hands that had been so intimately acquainted with Angelina Dalles’s body, the same hands that had shattered that body and ripped the cinematic records from its tattered ruin.

“How do I look, darling?”

There was no reply.


	30. Grelle and Sarah: Talisman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is based on my headcanons regarding Sarah Sutcliff, the baby sister I've created for Grelle in my mind. Needless to say, this is purely my own invention and has no basis in the manga or anime.

Which ribbon should she wear today? Striped or spotted, silk or velvet? She sifted through them like a dragon counting the gold coins and precious gemstones in its treasury.

A red silk one finally caught her eye. This shade and texture…how strangely familiar…

It glided through her startled fingers like a serpent as the memory flooded back.

_Grelle hated the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Thin and pasty, framed by lank, utterly forgettable brown hair. A drab little sparrow._

_“Sissy’s pretty!” Sarah chirped, running her tortoiseshell comb through the locks Grelle yanked in frustration and rage alone in her bed at night, praying to a deaf, unfeeling deity to make them fiery, passionate_ red _, like her mother’s, like little Sarah’s._

_Her baby sister had to be lying. Grelle Sutcliff wasn’t pretty, locked away as she was in this wretched, horrible body. But the six-year-old’s dimpled smile as she combed Grelle’s hair almost made her believe it._

_Sarah took a step back and placed her chubby fists on her hips. “Somethin’s missing…oh! I know!” She raced off to the other end of the room while Grelle smiled fondly after her, staying seated in front of the mirror with her coltish legs stretched out to the side._

_Sarah returned with a scarlet ribbon clutched in her hand. “Sissy needs it for her hair!”_

_Sissy—sister—Sarah had understood, when Grelle whispered to her one day that she had a maiden’s heart, and she always used the right words when they were alone together._

_The bow was clumsy and lopsided, but worked like a talisman to cast a glamour of daintiness and feminine charm over Grelle._

_“Sissy’s really,_ really _pretty now!” Sarah cheered. She gave a squeak of surprise when Grelle buried her face in her hands and wept._

Teardrops stained the ribbons strewn across the table. Sarah’s bones had long since turned to dust, but Grelle held the memory of her close to her heart, like a talisman.


	31. Grelle: The river

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grelle reflects on the fading memory of her demise.
> 
> Trigger warnings for suicide and drowning.

Time and rivers were much alike: Tranquil, silent, smooth as glass, slipping by so gradually that you hardly noticed. But they _eroded_ what they touched, relentlessly sweeping away soil and stone particle by particle. The river had quenched the smoldering embers of Grelle’s mortal life and worn down the body she’d despised to nothing, not even an imprint in the mud; time, in its indifferent benevolence, finished the job by washing away her human memories.

On the rare occasions when she revisited her final exit, it was increasingly difficult to conjure up the _details_.

It had been a sunny afternoon. Or was it? Perhaps it had been morning, or maybe the dying sunset that she recalled. Had there been any light in the first place? She might have sought the concealment of nightfall. Regardless, she’d been barefoot, albeit too miserable to care how the wet grass soaked her feet as she staggered along the riverbank.

She’d worn a red dress, a lovely shade of…burgundy? Vermilion? Maroon? Had the fabric been cotton or silk? What of the embroidery? She hadn’t the faintest idea where she’d obtained it. But there _had_ been a red dress. How else was she to play Ophelia?

She’d leapt into the river…or did she simply succumb to gravity, letting herself totter and fall? That was the more ladylike option. However, the end result was the same. Despair had dragged her down into the water’s cold embrace. She didn’t think she could ever forget that bitter, biting chill.

She’d been so frightened as her vision blurred and the river poured itself into her lungs. Terror left an indelible brand upon the soul that could never be fully erased. She hadn’t the foggiest notion what her dying thoughts had been...except for one that stood out in stark clarity amidst her black forgetfulness.

_The prince isn’t coming._

She was grateful that the memory had blurred and faded. Grelle doubted that time truly healed all wounds, but at least it could wash out the pain that marred her soul.


	32. Grelle: What's in a name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a young girl rechristens herself with a name that fits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for deadnames and misgendering of a trans woman. As per usual, this is based on my own headcanons concerning Grelle’s past and will likely differ from any information Yana may provide in the future.
> 
> As another disclaimer, I'm not a native-speaker of German, so please correct me if my translation is faulty!

“How d’you say it again? Greel? Grelly?”

“Grelle. That’s a name you don’t hear every day.”

“Uh…what language is that? French?”

Like so much else about her, Grelle Sutcliff’s name was an enigma to the dispatch, though that didn’t faze the red reaper. She knew who she was.

Her parents had christened her Jeremiah, a respectable name for a merchant’s son. But even at age five, Jeremiah knew that “he” was a little girl, though her mother had caned her for attempting to try on her sister Margaret’s dress. The name pinched worse than a pair of shoes that were too tight. Nay, it was a sharp, jagged _stone_ in her shoe that bruised and cut her with each step.

“I’m not Jeremiah,” she’d mutter furiously into her pillow at night. “I’m _not_.”

Then who was she?

She found the answer during a German lesson with the family’s governess. They were going over lists of words called “adjectives,” which you used to describe things. _Schön_ , _gut_ , _stark_ …

‘ _Grell_.’ She sounded it out curiously.

‘Garish,’ their governess informed the children.

‘Wh-what’s garish mean?’ she whispered meekly. The governess looked down her nose at her with that haughty condescension that always made the girl feel small and insignificant.

‘Something that is too showy and bright, distastefully so. Like a _garish_ pink hairbow revealing a young lady’s vanity,’ the governess concluded caustically.

The girl yearned to be bright. To _shine_ just like her pretty big sisters.

She rolled the word around in her mind, savoring it and examining it from every angle. That night, she tried it on for size.

“I’m Grell.”

And

It

Fit

The sweet relief was as a balm to the restless longing that had rubbed her soul raw.

She added the “e” at the end later, to give it a more feminine aesthetic, but this moment marked the second christening over which she officiated as high priestess.

Jeremiah Sutcliff was dead and buried. Grell Sutcliff—the woman who sang too loud and burned too brightly—had risen to take her rightful place.


	33. Hannah and Luka: Suo Gân

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this drabble is the Welsh lullaby “Suo Gân,” which Hannah sings to O!Ciel in Season 2. The scenario depicted below is based on my own imagination rather than canon (but let’s be real, is anything I write rooted in canon? XD)

_The song was pretty. Luka didn’t know what the words meant, but they must be about something nice. Hannah’s voice made him feel warm, like when he cuddled up with Jim for the night. Luka didn’t trust most grownups—they threw stones at you, or said one thing but meant another, or wouldn’t give you food even when you were so hungry that your tummy ached from the emptiness. But Hannah wasn’t like that. She was soft and kind, and she’d helped make Jim happy._

_She rocked back and forth as she held him in her arms, and it was making him sleepy. He didn’t want to go to sleep. He just wanted to keep listening to the pretty music. But his eyelids wouldn’t stay open…Hadn’t she said she’d take his soul when the lullaby was over?_

_He nestled against her breast. Someone else had sung to him like this, though he barely remembered her._

_“Mamma…”_

Hannah lay supine among the flowers, gazing up at the translucent blue sky. The memory was harder to summon these days. She would always carry Luka Macken’s soul within her, but a spirit’s recollections faded with the passage of time, like mist dissipated by the morning’s light. In a decade or so, it might be gone altogether.

But music never truly fell silent. It lived eternally.

“ _Sleep in peace, dear child,_

_Sleep quietly on your mother's breast_ ,”

she sang sweetly in Welsh.

And if a quicksilver tear slipped from her eye, only the sky was the wiser.


	34. Sebagrelle: Elmosolyodni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness
> 
> This is set in an alternate version of my Black Governess AU. Instead of a fem!Agni paired with "Sébastienne" the demon, we have Grelle, who is working as Lizzy’s governess (albeit still a reaper gone undercover)

“Dearest Sébastieeeeeeenne!”

The demon grit her teeth as Grelle’s shrill voice pierced her eardrums. Schooling her expression to mask her annoyance, she turned to face the reaper. Ever since she’d turned up to replace Miss Elizabeth’s old governess, Grelle Sutcliff had been absolutely insufferable, and she even had the gall to _flirt_ with Sébastienne. As if a member of the Phantomhive household had the time or the inclination for such drivel! Admittedly, her alluring chartreuse eyes and blood-red lips held a certain aesthetic _appeal_. Sébastienne refused to examine that appeal too closely, or wonder why it made her weak at the knees.

“I have a little surprise for you, darling.”

“How very kind,” the diabolical governess replied tartly. Exactly the sort of untoward behavior she’d come to expect from Grelle. She shuddered to think what Grelle had in mind. No doubt something vulgar.

“Ta-DAH!” Grelle’s hands, which had been coyly hidden behind her back, presented Sébastienne with a small needlepoint work. A winsome black kitten’s face was depicted therein, its pink mouth open in a soundless mew. How in the nine hells had the crass, brazen Miss Sutcliff made a piece this whimsical? This inimitably charming? This…thoughtful? Perfectly rendered, depicting the most splendid of animals in her favorite color?

An effervescent giddiness bubbled up in Sébastienne’s chest like champagne, and her lips curved effortlessly into a smile.

“I…why…it’s lovely.”

A faint pink betrayed itself beneath Grelle’s makeup. “Not as lovely as your smile, my darling.”


	35. Our!Ciel: Luchtkasteel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the heir slumbers, the spare dreams of a starlit castle where he is king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luchtkasteel: castle in the air
> 
> I still have a few long-neglected prompts in the inbox, so I figured it was time to start updating this collection again!

The heir was fast asleep, lost in a dream, eyes darting rapidly behind closed lids. The spare dreamed while wide awake, eyes shining as they beheld visions that only he could see. He wished he could share them with Ciel, but it would be rude to disturb his twin. And good boys weren’t rude. Even when they really, _really_ wanted to stay up talking with their big brother.

Instead, he quietly slipped out bed, padded across the floor, and slowwwwly pulled the curtains back to reveal the stars. His lips parted in a smile as he reached for those twinkling lights, and he clambered onto the windowsill to get a little bit closer. There were so many! They glittered against the night sky like diamonds on black velvet.

Last week, once it got dark, Father had taken him and Ciel outside to teach them about the constellations. Pictures God drew in heaven for the rest of the world to see. If you looked at the stars just right, they’d line up to form a bear’s lumbering body, or the hunter Orion’s belt.

But _he_ wanted to realign the stars, and build a castle.

His castle in the air would sparkle brighter than Phantomhive silverware. It was a place filled with joy and light, where children could play for as long as their heart desired. There were whole rooms filled with every kind of toy you could think of. Fairies served you candy on a golden platter, and it never gave you a tummyache no matter how much you ate.

He didn’t have to worry about the coughing and breathlessness here; he’d left his frailty behind when he soared off into the night. Instead of watching from the window, he ran by Lizzy’s side, or rode with her on the back of a shooting star. They laughed and laughed together til his face hurt from smiling so much. In this shining castle of a thousand constellations, he was king.

There were monsters, of course—where there were Phantomhives, monsters were sure to follow, with their slobbering jaws and eyes glazed with bloodlust. But he was king of this palace. Stronger than Ciel, and cleverer than Father. Those monsters couldn’t darken his door for long.

Sometimes, if you listened closely, you could hear the stars sing. The words were in a language he didn’t know, and the music was so beautiful he couldn’t describe it. Like the jubilant bursting of fireworks…or pearly moonlight that turned the leaves silver. Won…der…ful…

Mother found him curled up on the windowsill the next morning, smiling peacefully. He was still dreaming about his castle.


	36. Sebamey: Basorexia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basorexia: An overwhelming desire to kiss

As a demon, Sebastian ought to be familiar with hunger, the gnawing emptiness that made every atom of his being howl like a starving wolf until he had supped to the brim on human misery. But the hunger Mey Rin aroused in him was of a different variety. A dagger plunged straight through his heart, ever wounded, ever healing. If devouring a soul and relishing its pain, iniquity, and turmoil was akin to reading the finest prose, then kissing Mey Rin was poetry most sublime. Like a sonnet that revealed a new mystery each time he returned to it, yet dangled a bright, elusive _he-knew-not-what_ before the demon’s enraptured gaze. Perhaps he could catch it with his next kiss.

There were myriad variations on the theme. Gallant kisses pressed to the back of Mey’s hand that made her bashful and rosy-cheeked as an ingénue, or tender, lingering kisses on the forehead to calm her hidden demons after a nightmare. Brash, lascivious kisses against her ear or neck to fan the flames of the maid’s desire, or impassioned kisses (sharp with the fangs of Sebastian’s longing) on her breasts and thighs when he took his mate to bed and claimed her in worship. And the heavenly kisses she bestowed on his lips, sharing the same air til they were one spirit, their bodies fitting together like melody and harmony. She tasted of _more_ and _yet more_ , and it was always with bitterest regret that Sebastian parted from her.

“Sebastian? Are you awright?” Mey Rin asked, passing by with a load of laundry.

“O-of course. Why do you ask?”

“You just looked all dreamy, like you were thinkin’ hard about something…”

Sebastian blushed, but stepped closer, cradling her face between gloved hands.

“I was thinking of how much I love you, my dear.”

The laundry basket fell from her startled grasp, and Mey Rin gripped his jacketfront, pulling him towards her. Sebastian eyelids fluttered shut as they kissed, and he drank in her light like a honeybee quaffs nectar from a flower.

This basorexia was a sweet, incurable sickness. Every attempt to remedy it only worsened the ailment. His and Mey Rin’s lives had become as entangled as two briars, but how beautiful the roses were.

He loved her, he loved her, and would always have another kiss for the maid of Phantomhive.


	37. Sebamey: Ayurnamat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayurnamat: The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of gun violence and bullets

Once you fired a bullet, there was no taking it back. Oh, you could weep in the aftermath and curse the blood that stained your hands years after you’d washed them clean, but it wouldn’t change a thing. Mey Rin should’ve reconciled herself to this, she should, but the pain still dug at her like a nail driven through the heart.

He was so young, that bloke she’d shot tonight. Sixteen at most. Pale and stunted, likely from a childhood spent crammed in a filthy tenement building among the city slums. But since he’d been part of a gang of hired guns sent to kill young master, she couldn’t spare him. The maid’s job was to clear _all_ vermin from the manor.

He’d seen the bullet right before it hit him. Too late to run, but long enough for terror to flood his face before it tore through his jugular. Mey Rin had turned away and grabbed another rifle, training it on the next target. She had a job to do, and there was no time for tears.

That came afterwards, when the intruders were eliminated. She put on her nightgown and sat motionless in bed, resting her head on her knees as if to hide from her guilt. That boy had been only a few years older than young master. He’d meant them harm, and she’d have pulled the trigger again if need be, but he was practically a kid still…

Her body shook with violent sobs.

“Mey?”

She jolted upright at the sound of Sebastian’s voice outside the door, furiously rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand to wipe away the tears. He must’ve already taken care of the bodies.

“Y-yes?” she squeaked.

“What’s wrong, dearest? I heard you crying.”

“It’s—it’s nothin’, Sebastian, I’m fine, yes I am—”

But he entered her room nonetheless, recognizing the lie at once. Mey couldn’t see much of his expression without her glasses on, but the demon’s quick footsteps and the near-clumsiness with which he sat on the bed next to her betrayed his worry.

“You can talk to me, Mey. Please.”

His gloved hand tenderly stroked her hair, and the maid fell to pieces, reaching out for Sebastian and falling into his embrace. She cried against his chest as she recounted the incident, and he listened quietly while rocking her to and fro and patting her back.

“An’ I know it was my duty, b-but I still feel so _awful_!”

“You have a kind, compassionate spirit, my love, and that’s one of your most beautiful virtues. It takes courage to choose to feel instead of letting yourself go numb. But you _must_ move forward. What has been done cannot be undone. Dwelling in this sadness will be like flailing in quicksand…it’ll pull you under.”

“I’ll bounce back. I promise,” Mey Rin sniffled. “It’s dreadful silly of me to carry on like this an’ bawl my eyes out an’ get your nice jacket all damp.”

“To hell with my jacket; it’ll dry. Expressing your feelings is _not_ silly, Mey. That’s part of being human. Tonight, you’ll cry, and I’ll hold you as long as you need me to. Tomorrow, we’ll greet the new day together, and I shall make you tea with extra honey in it.”

Mey Rin relaxed into the security of his warmth and closeness, a tremulous smile gracing her lips.

“And I’ll be all right, yes I will.”


	38. Redcliff: Duende

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duende: unusual power to attract or charm
> 
> The final scenario mentioned in this drabble was inspired by one of Yana's sketches of these ladies.

Madame Red is queen of every ballroom and parlor graced with her presence. She recounts humorous anecdotes with the mastery of a priest delivering his homily, coaxing laughter from even the dourest audience. Her carmine eyes, glancing at Grelle from behind a fan or over the rim of a champagne glass, beguile her like the siren’s song, and the reaper’s heart is snatched from her chest before she even has time to bleed. Grelle forgets to blink as she watches the woman dance, captivated by the sensuous elegance with which she moves, and aching with envy as she wishes that _she_ could be her partner, rather than that foppish idiot who’s holding her hand. But butler and master must maintain a proper distance.

Round about Grelle’s mistress, the light seems tinged with crimson, like the bloodstained aura encircling a fallen Madonna. 

How could Grelle _not_ adore Madame Red, so close to godhood in her own right?

* * *

An, poppet, darling, Lina, _mon coeur_ , _ma moitié_ , my sweet, dearest An-ge- _li_ -na—and all the other names that flow past Grelle’s lips like prayers when they are alone together—charms the reaper, too, but in different ways.

An wraps her arms around Grelle’s midriff and sleepily kisses her hair while they snuggle in bed together. Out of the blue, she’ll surprise the reaper with sweets or a new pair of shoes, and sometimes, she’ll put music on the record player and waltz with Grelle through the sitting room. Though Lina protests otherwise, she’s stunning even without makeup. When she groggily opens her eyes in the morning and asks Grelle what time it is, or sips at her tea while reading the newspaper, the goddess knows she has never seen anyone more perfect.

There’s no artifice to An’s laughter as they drink and gossip this evening, sitting comfortably on the sofa. Cheeks ruddy and eyes crinkled in mirth, she guffaws at Grelle’s tales of the latest mishaps at dispatch, and the reaper knows the warmth in her chest doesn’t come from the alcohol.

_I’d marry you if I could, my charmer._


	39. Sebamey: Tailcoat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Mey Rin trying on Sebastian’s suit.
> 
> Content warning for mild NotSFW

"I think this suit's a bit big for me, yes it is!" Mey Rin squeaked. "Yer coattails are draggin' 'cross the floor, Sebastian!"

The maid had a point. She'd been forced to roll up the sleeves and the ends of her trousers. Due to her legs being considerably shorter than Sebastian's, his coat threatened to swallow her up. That didn't make her a jot less pretty. If anything, Mey was more adorable than ever as she blinked up at the demon with wide, bashful eyes.

"You still make quite the handsome butler," he assured her, taking the maid's little hands and softly kissing her knuckles.

Mey Rin ducked her head, but not in time to hide her blush. "Oh, yew stop it!" she giggled.

"I'm in earnest, my love. Men and women of every station would fall at your feet if they caught a glimpse of you wearing a suit."

A shy smile lit up Mey Rin's face, and the demon couldn't resist bending down to kiss her forehead. What a dear!

"Though it'd need to be tailored t'me measurements, it would! Not too long in some areas an' too...t-tight in others..."

She glanced furtively at her copious bosom, which fought mightily against the buttons that constrained it and seemed ready to break free at any moment.

The demon ached with a rapacious need that had nothing to do with his hunger for souls, and he gently let go of Mey Rin's hands to cradle her breasts. She gasped and bit her lower lip when he squeezed them.

"True...if your regular attire put your _endowments_ on such brazen display, there's no way in hell I could concentrate on my work. I'd be ceaselessly tormented by the urge to worship you."

The maid shot him a salacious grin that turned his knees to water.

"Well, nothin's stopping you from _worshippin'_ me right here and now, Sebastian Michaelis...so why don't you get on your knees for me?"


	40. The reapers: Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ayurnamat (the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed)
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of suicide

The reapers wrote their last chapter in tears and blood, with the bitter, razor-thin edges of unfulfilled dreams and impenetrable solitude as their stylus. Sometimes it was the culmination of a wretched chronicle that had been in the making for years; sometimes, an illegible scrawl dashed across the page when the tenuous thread by which they might have climbed out of despair was abruptly severed. Regardless, most of them had leapt into death's embrace with the understanding that it was The End. _Finis_.

They hadn't anticipated the epilogue. New eyes with a preternatural gleam that was but a faint ember of the uncreated flame from High Heaven, and whose myopic vision was more woefully limited than a newborn babe's. Scythes that pierced the soul and reeled out cinematic records by which these fledgling gods were supposed to decide its fate—they, who had yet to comprehend their own mortal lives, or the eternity that had been foisted upon them! The Sisyphean labor, the heavy yoke of divinity.

Of their own free will, they had cut their lives short before the appointed time, and their resulting sentence could not be altered by so much as a jot. That was one of the first precepts they learned after awakening in the death gods' realm. They just had to make the best of it, or at least make do.

A lucky few rejoiced in their unexpected circumstances. Like Othello, who now had centuries at his disposal to probe the secrets of the universe, and technology whose capabilities so far exceeded anything the mortal world could offer that he'd wept for joy when he first saw his laboratory. And Sascha, enamored with humankind's progress and their duties as a harbinger of death.

More often, however, this epilogue was not a fresh start begun on blank, crisp paper, but smudged and tainted by the sorrows that preceded it. Grelle Sutcliff was unquestionably better off at dispatch, able at long last to paint herself red _red_ **_RED_** —whether with makeup, the glamours she had a particular knack for casting, or the blood of her foes. But even on this side of the grave, acknowledgement, respect, and understanding continued to elude her. Ronald kept himself distracted with vacuous flirtations, gleaming wristwatches, twopenny laughter, and liquid happiness that made him feel emptier with each mug he downed at his favorite pub. Yet this tawdry, glittering gaiety couldn't banish the self-hatred and sense of worthlessness that choked his soul like vile, dark weeds.

Others among their number simply resigned themselves to their fate, kept their heads down, and got on with it. All his short life, Ludger had struggled to find a purpose, anything that could make the grey tedium of existence more bearable. He hadn't, and he was just as aimless now, blindly trudging along as dispatch ordered, irritable and unsatisfied. For William T. Spears, the days whirled by like a monotonous wheel. Early mornings, foul-tasting coffee, paperwork, bureaucratic inefficiency, and overtime, _always_ overtime. He'd jumped from the roof precisely to escape this soul-numbing oppression, but he'd only succeeded in changing employers. Accepting his lot was the only way to avoid going mad.

And as for reapers who attempted to erase what had been inscribed in stone...well, rebellion has its price. Eric Slingby refused to accept the grim reality that awaited his beloved Alan, ensnared by the Thorns of Death, and stooped to murder in an effort to rewrite their ending. But his efforts had culminated in death; a beautiful death, surrounded by hundreds of souls that fell like purest snow. Then, of course, there was the Undertaker, who had tossed aside his glasses and his sacred charge in exchange for a precarious freedom. Human love had rekindled in his heart, but when bitter misfortune destroyed that love, grief sank her claws into his mind and tore all semblance of reason to shreds. Instead of contenting himself with memories, the silver-haired reaper fought to breathe life back into the past. However, his bizarre dolls were a grotesque mockery of the people they had once been, soulless as clockwork, and forever incomplete, like a puzzle with the center missing. For all his strength and wiles, he could not escape the painful consequences of his hubris.

The reapers hadn't asked to be judges who toiled in the dim twilight between life and death, but that was their portion regardless. They couldn't turn back the page. All that remained was to forge ahead with the epilogue.


	41. Sebagni: A devil falls into temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble features a wlw version of Sebagni; Agni is genderbent, while our genderfluid demon is female-presenting as the "Black Governess." Happy Femslash February, y'all! ;)

Sébastienne trembled as the khansama’s hands tenderly cradled her face. Her cheeks flushed, the flame of insatiable desire and the ravening light of Kali kindling a warmth that should have been anathema to her proud, wintry heart.

Agni’s eyes were grey, grey, grey, but with a glint of gold behind them that the demonness hungered for.

“Why so hesitant, Miss Agni? A Phantomhive governess does not require such careful handling,” she teased.

_I can coax you into more than this, dear. Far more._

The khansama smiled, and her thumb stroked Sébastienne’s lower lip.

“I am always careful with that which I consider precious, Miss Sébastienne.”

That low, sweet voice was golden, too. It set the demonness aglow like the majestic sun that bequeaths her light to the moon’s dark face.

_I shouldn’t be feeling this,_ the governess thought in astonishment as Agni kissed her.

Ginger, nutmeg, honey.

_Oh, my sweet Agni..._

She **shouldn’t** be feeling this, but she sure as hell didn’t want it to stop.


	42. Sebastian and Reader: A butler's meditations on love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A while ago, I received a Tumblr ask requesting that I write about how Sebastian would describe love or falling in love. I thought I'd share it here, as well!

The demon tilts his head to the side and gazes pensively into the distance before replying to your query.

"Humans' expression _'falling_ in love' is a bit of a misnomer, in my opinion. When it was new, my love conferred a feeling of utter weightlessness. Gravity's tether no longer bound me. I was...giddy, like you might be if you drank from a bottle of champagne til the world turned golden and you could not catch your breath for laughing. Some say that devils' hearts are made of ice rather fire, but even a passing smile from my beloved made that ice burn." He falls silent and presses a hand against his chest, above the breastbone, as though the flame still scorches him.

"But the passion became more...manageable after a while. Thank goodness it did, or I'd have been sorely put upon to fulfill my duties as Phantomhive butler!" the demon chuckles.

"Knowing what I do now, I'd say that love is quiet, with the unspoken stability of a cornerstone on which one's house can stand tall, and weather all manner of storms and tribulations. It rewrites you in another language that you and your companion will spend the rest of your lives learning to speak together. Human eyes can't see it, but my mate's spiritual energy is as much a part of my essence as your blood and bones are a part of your mortal form...and just as vital."

He cups his chin in his hands.

"Love is using one's umbrella to shield your mate from the rain, even if you've just quarreled. Or knowing how someone takes their tea, and sharing it with them." His lips curve up in a gentle smile.

"Perhaps your experiences are different, Y/N, but that's my understanding of love."


	43. Sebagni: Hand in hand

Agni offered his hand as Sebastian prepared to board the carriage. Like the divine promptings that directed his fingers to make curry fit for a prince, the gesture was spontaneous, born of pure instinct.

A flicker of surprise crossed the butler’s face, as if he’d made a misstep in a dance. Then he smirked, but the softness about his mouth hinted at a different smile. Delicate and luminous, like a dream that eluded your grasp if you struggled too hard to remember it…one that the khansama would, under different circumstances, have sought to catch with a kiss. But since they were in public, and on assignment for Sebastian’s young lord, Agni merely kept his hand outstretched. Waiting.

“This is unnecessary,” the butler murmured. “I can get in just fine on my own.”

Yet his fingers caressed Agni’s palm.

After Sebastian gracefully slid in next to him and shut the carriage door, Agni held his breath, wondering what his lover would do next. Occasionally, the demon retreated inward and held himself aloof from mortal affection…akin to the mercurial cats Sebastian adored, as Agni had teasingly noted.

The demon’s hand shifted in his grasp, but it was only to adjust position so that their fingers intertwined. Sebastian nestled against the curve of his body, their thighs touching, and shyly met Agni’s eyes.

“Can you keep holding my hand, please?” he whispered.

Sebastian wielded powers capable of annihilating entire civilizations and wiping kingdoms from the face of the earth, but the painful fragility in his voice made Agni want to weep.

As the coachman flicked his reins and the horses sprang into a trot, eagerly bound for their destination, Agni cradled the white-gloved hand that clung to him with unwavering devotion.

“Of course I will, moonlight.”


	44. Sebagrelle: Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in a human AU where Sebastian is a pop idol and Grelle is his/her/their makeup artist and costume designer. Sebastian is genderfluid and using she/her pronouns here.

“There you go, _ma chérie_!” Grelle trilled as she put the finishing touches on Sebastian’s makeup. “Ready to take the crowd by storm! And I’m always happy to do a little tweaking if my persnickety princess commands…”

“I am _not_ persnickety,” Sebastian retorted, absentmindedly smoothing her skirts. “I just have high standards.”

She coyly glanced at Grelle from beneath fluttering lashes.

“But am I royalty? _Hell_ yes.”

While the makeup artist giggled, the idol swiveled around in the chair to face her reflection.

Before commencing his first nationwide tour, pop singer Sebastian Michaelis had made extensive plans for his wardrobe, including the specific outfits he’d wear at each performance. He hadn’t expected to shift halfway through, but when she frantically informed Grelle that the suit, tie, and billowing cape intended for tonight’s concert no longer _felt_ right, her lover had whipped out a Gothic Lolita dress she’d brought along ‘just in case.’ A woman of many talents, Grelle also worked as Sebastian’s costume designer, and this wasn’t the first time she’d come to the rescue in moments of crisis. Small wonder that “the Lady in Red” was already a legend in the entertainment industry.

 _Dozens of stars fawning at her feet, and she chose to work with_ me.

Grelle had rendered her pale as a porcelain doll, with sparkling red to bring out the hellfire in her eyes, and a shade of black darker than the devil’s soul to accentuate her dainty lips. Luckily, Sebastian’s hair was long enough to put up in pigtails, and a black choker with a small red pendant dangling from the middle adorned her throat. Her sumptuous dress, her elegant leather gloves, and her high-heeled boots—they were all the midnight black that Sebastian adored.

“Perfect,” the idol murmured. “It’s like you read my mind and know exactly what I want to see in the mirror...”

“Lover’s intuition. And reading artists’ minds is my _job_ , darling—I’d be bloody useless if I didn’t know that much,” Grelle laughed.

She tenderly stroked Sebastian’s hair.

“Oh _chaton_ , the fans are going to go **mad** over you. They always do, no matter how you’re presenting.”

The idol blushed…not for the sake of the faceless thousands who chanted her songs without ever fully understanding her, but because of this praise from the woman who loved every possible variation of Sebastian Michaelis.

“It doesn’t matter what they think. I just care about what you think,” she purred.

Grelle pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Well, _I_ think you’re the most gorgeous, talented, brilliant woman in all creation. And if you didn’t have a full house waiting for you, I’d keep you right here and _worship_ you, _ma petite princesse_ ,” she whispered.

Sebastian had danced before strangers from coast to coast without batting an eye, but she bashfully covered her face at Grelle’s words.

Although fame was a heady elixir, right now, she didn’t give a damn about the bouquets thrown at her feet.

_I’m Grelle's princess._


End file.
